


Crazier Than Crazy

by evilwriter37



Series: Febuwhump 2021 [3]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Violence, Imprisonment, Jail, Mental Instability, Solitary Confinement, Whump, dagur!whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilwriter37/pseuds/evilwriter37
Summary: Dagur is put in solitary confinement.
Series: Febuwhump 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134545
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	Crazier Than Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Imprisonment

The door was locked. 

Dagur pressed his hands up against it, balling his fingers into fists. He wanted to get  _ out  _ of here. 

_ Here  _ was a juvenile detention center. He was 17, almost old enough to be tried as an adult, but still young enough to go here. His case would probably be redone when he turned 18 and he’d be moved to an adult prison. He’d robbed a store at gunpoint. No one had been hurt, but it had still gotten him 5 years. 5 years of grueling boredom, gray walls, nasty food, and trouble. Plenty, and plenty of trouble. 

He’d gotten into a fight with another inmate. It had been physical, and he had a black eye from it, but that was his only wound. The other inmate hadn’t faired so well, was probably still in the infirmary with broken ribs or something.

So Dagur had been sent here, into isolation. There wasn’t much in the room. A bed, a sink, a toilet, the bare necessities to keep someone alive. His food was slid through a little hatch at the bottom of the door, coming at the same time every day. That was the only thing he had to relieve some of his boredom. Other than that, he had nothing. Absolutely nothing.

And it was driving him crazy. Not that he wasn’t crazy already, most likely, but it wasn’t helping his mental state to be left all alone like this. He was left to his thoughts, his horrible, horrible thoughts.

Dagur got no visitors. His father had died about a year ago, and his sister still hated him. That was the only family he had. Friends? None. Sure, he’d had people that he’d hung out with and smoked pot and drank with, but they weren’t really friends. They had abandoned him when the robbery went wrong, Dagur being the only one that was caught. 

Dagur thought of getting visitors. Well, one visitor in particular: Hiccup. He’d had a crush on him for a while now. More than a crush really. A terrible infatuation. Hiccup was cute and smart and good, and everything that he wasn’t. Maybe that’s why he was drawn to him. Maybe Dagur wanted change from his dark, gloomy life. 

But change wasn’t going to happen in here, not when fights were common and the other inmates hated him. 

Dagur sighed, lowered his hands, began pacing. It was no good to keep himself inactive, so he walked the length of the little room, turned, then walked it in the opposite direction. He kept doing this, clenching and unclenching his hands. He’d lost track of the days, of how long he’d been in there. Certainly he’d be let out soon, right? Not that there was much good on the other side of that door, but interacting with others was better than not, was better than being alone with his thoughts. 

Dagur cried at night. Or, what he thought was night. The lights would go off at a certain time, as they were on a schedule, and then he would lay down on the thin mattress and try to sleep. And he’d cry. He’d never tell anyone this, never in a million years, but he just needed to. Sometimes he needed to cry during the day, like right now. 

His life had been good with his father alive, despite his controlling nature. He’d had plenty of money, a good home, plenty of food, entertainment, but after his death, everything had fallen to shit. He’d been put in the foster care system, but had run away from each home he’d been put in. These people didn’t understand him, didn’t truly care about him. It was just somewhere to keep him till he turned 18 and was set loose on the world. 

The world would probably pay dearly for that. 

Dagur’s sinuses pinched as tears formed in his eyes. He stopped pacing, angrily wiped them away. He knew there was a camera, and he didn’t want to be  _ seen  _ crying. At least at night, no one would see his tears. 

He thought of Hiccup again. Good, good Hiccup. God, how he wanted him. He wanted to kiss him, and hold him, and fuck him… take him as his. But Hiccup had a girlfriend - Astrid - and maybe he wasn’t even into guys. Dagur certainly was. He was into girls too, but there was something about fucking a guy that brought him so much more pleasure. Maybe it was the rare show of vulnerability from someone society had told not to be vulnerable. Dagur liked it when people were vulnerable, liked it because then they could hurt. He liked hurting people. It wasn’t his fault really. His dad had taken him to many a therapist and psychiatrist, and he’d eventually been diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder. Yeah, the one psychopaths usually had. Was Dagur a psychopath? Did he qualify? Maybe, maybe not. Dagur didn’t really care all that much at this point. He was in prison. He might as well be bad, because everyone had always told him that he was. 

He wanted to fuck Hiccup, but he wanted to hurt him too, hurt him for denying his advances, for having a girlfriend, for being better than him. He wanted to wrap his hands around his neck and hear him choke and gasp for air. He wouldn’t kill him, of course. Dagur would never  _ really  _ kill someone. At least, he didn’t think so. He hadn’t been driven to it… yet.

Dagur sat down on the bed. He didn’t really know why he was crying. Maybe it was because of the chaos of his thoughts, of his emotions. Maybe it was because he didn’t actually want to leave, and knew what waited for him on the other side of that door.

One of the inmates, older than him by a few months or so, had taken an interest in him. A despicable interest. Dagur still remembered being pressed against the wall with his pants pulled down, feeling like there was a burning iron rod inside of him. Is that what other people felt when he fucked them? Or had it hurt so much because the guy had only used spit, and because he wanted it to hurt?

Dagur was conflicted. He wanted to stay in this room forever, to not have to face that again, but he also wanted to leave so desperately.

He was driving himself crazy in here.

Maybe, by the time he was allowed to leave this room, he’d be more mad than when he’d entered it. 


End file.
